


head-on, full circle

by orphan_account



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 08:43:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maura and Jane meet during Maura's freshman year at BCU. Problem is, jane's a campus cop, there's an age difference, and secrets that may not be uncovered before the damage is done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	head-on, full circle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [givemerizzlesorgivemedeath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/givemerizzlesorgivemedeath/gifts), [aposse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aposse/gifts).



> You /guys/. I just have so many feelings about this fandom right now, the way the show's been going and how we've all been frustrated and I feel like now more than ever is a good time for an AU. I think- hear me out- that if you can take two characters, thrust them into an alternate setting, and their relationship is still believeable in canon, it kind of validates the whole process. I dunno, I've been up for like 36 hours but hey, I tried.
> 
> This is a christmas present for the three most wonderful friends I have in this fandom- Gabby, Tammy, and Coleen, my lovely brotp family. I love you guys and I hope you enjoy the several (3? 4?) parts of this because they are all your fault~

The outside light flickers on at the flip of her switch and she dutifully takes down a note- _McAsskisser forgot light 7A again. 10/4._

  
It's not yet cold enough for her to see her breath, but it's pushing it, cold enough that she avoids the metal of the gun at her hip even though that's where her hand naturally rests. Instead she hooks her thumbs into her belt loops and pretends she's a domestic cop- beer belly and all.

  
Homicide Victor 285 indeed.

  
Campus cop is a far cry from perfect but it's what she's got, and at least she's not one of the poor saps directing traffic. At least she gets the slightly more interesting job of chaperoning the various (and often drunk) night-prowling BCU students. She doesn't always hate her job, it's just one of those nights. One of those nights that she remembers what she could have had of she had learned to keep her goddamn mouth shut. It's pushing 2 am now, and because it's a Tuesday before midterm exams, her quadrant- around behind the library- has been remarkably empty. This is because normal people exit through the front of the library. 

She knows the moment the kid appears that she's not exactly normal. For one thing it's 2 am and she looks like she stepped out of a  J Crew catalogue- for another she's leaving through the back door of the library. Alone.  Jane watches for a moment, freeing her hands, and then lurches into action when the girl trips and drops every book in her hands- managing, somehow, to keep a grip on the MacBook in her arms.

Jane’s there in a few bounds, hastily collecting scattered papers and pens and handing them to the honey-blonde, who's apologizing so profusely she’s not sure it's even in English. "You can't just wander around by yourself at two in the morning," she mutters, hauling herself back to her feet and watching the student shove things back into binders, "BCU may have campus cops but it's still a city college."

  
It's what she's trained to say, but she's agitated enough that she means it a little. The student looks at her with oddly-shaped green eyes and says, breathless like a movie actress, "I'm Maura."

  
"And I'm your friendly campus cop. Which dorm?"  
"I-I can find it myself, ma'am."  
"Don't call me ma'am, it makes me feel menopausal. Which dorm?"  
"Braxton, but-"

  
Jane shoos Maura in the right direction and follows when she eventually starts to move. All things considered, Braxton is just across the street, but she has nothing better to do and knows she’d feel bad if she didn’t serve as an escort. They’ve barely gone three feet before she realizes her mistake: Maura’s a conversationalist.

  
“I’m seventeen,” she says.   
Jane grunts. “That’s nice.”  
“No, I meant- that’s why I was studying so late.”  
“Yes, I completely understand that non sequitur.”

  
Now’s one of those times she wonders if being a fat middle-aged man would be easier than being a scrawny twenty-something woman that everyone feels entitled to talk to about everything.

  
“I’m younger than the rest of my class and there’s a lot of pressure to..be good enough.”

  
What is she supposed to say to _that_?

  
“I’m not supposed to talk to you.” Not true. There’s no rule about that because in 99% of cases there’s no reason for a rule about it, but she can pretend if it’ll stop this conversation. They’re nearing the building- five yards, now two-

  
“Well, thank you.”  
“It’s my job.”

2:09. She has twenty one minutes before the end of her shift.

  
“Then thank you for doing your job, Officer-”  
“Rizzoli. Don’t mention it.”

  
There’s a few awkward moments where the kid just stands in the doorway of the dorm and blinks at her like she’s seeing a page of calculus instead of a human being, and then Jane turns on heel and sequesters herself back behind the library, taking comfort in the fact that a student body so large means she’ll probably never have to deal with that again. Or maybe it’s not comfort, exactly, because there’s a part of her that’s morbidly curious about it- a seventeen-year-old BCU freshman isn’t unheard of, but it’s still a rarity and she can’t imagine being under that kind of pressure so young.

  
“Not that I would know,” she mutters to herself, then jumps at the sound of another voice, hand flying to the gun at her hip- “Talking to yourself again, Rizzoli?”

  
The man addressing her steps out of the shadows- the freaking shadows, like he’s in a Batman film or something- and smirks at her. She swallows a biting retort and raises an eyebrow instead.

  
“Crowe. You’re early.”  
“Yeah, well, it’s your lucky day. You can go talk to yourself in your own little apartment.”  
  
She unbuttons the top two buttons of her uniform and takes her hair out of the high bun before she bothers to answer him, a shot over her shoulder as she leaves him behind- “Now that I’m off-duty then, fuck you,” but he’s smirking still when he gives her the usual shit: “I don’t know _how_ you’re still single," which is his way of saying he’d like to get her into bed. “Asshole,” she says, under her breath as she untucks her shirt and heads for her car. 

It’s not until she’s back in her own space that she realizes she still has one of Maura’s pens in her pocket.

  
.,.

  
She forgets all about it until it’s right in her face again.

  
“You lied to me,” Maura says, and Jane almost chokes on her coffee, leaning back in her chair. Java Bean is one of countless coffeehouses just off-campus and she’s tempted to ask if she’s been microchipped. There is no reason on _Earth_ for her to believe this is a coincidence- not when Maura sets her books down and slides into the other side of her booth, leaning forward on her elbows.

  
She’s in a braid this time, some kind of fancy twisty braid that falls over her shoulder, and she’s wearing glasses that Jane knows instinctively are for fashion’s sake and a sweater that could not possibly be anything other than pure alpaca wool or something equally as pretentious. The campus itself reeks of privilege and old money, but Maura steps it up a notch- Jane could swear she can smell the champagne and caviar from here.

  
“I looked it up in the BCU codebook. There’s no rule about talking to students.”  
“You _looked it up_? What kind of person _are_ you?”  
Maura shrugs. “I was bored.”  
  
Of course. Because that explains everything.

  
“I was trying to get you to stop talking to me,” Jane says, leaning back into the booth. “Clearly that didn’t go the way it should have.”  
“Do you really want to get rid of me?”  
Jane heaves a sigh and casts her eyes skyward. “Yes.”  
“You’re lying. You looked up and to the left- two signs of dishonesty-”  
“God, fine, but if you’re going to stick around at least be quiet.”

  
If she’s being honest, there’s something kind of funny and endearing about Maura, as weird as she is. That doesn’t mean she’s going to admit it out loud, but she _had_ been lying when she said she wanted Maura to leave. It might not be explicitly against the rules to chat with a student, but she knows better than to think it’s not frowned upon. Even if she’s the approachable butch cop that everyone wants to be buddy-buddy with (students seem to think they’re going to get a free ‘drug dealer’ or ‘underache alcoholic’ pass out of her just because she’s a woman), she’s still seven years older and professionally employed.

  
Maura doesn’t seem seventeen. That’s part of the problem, probably, part of why Jane’s so inappropriately drawn to her: she presents herself like she’s at _least_ twenty. There’s an LGBTQ support sticker on Maura’s laptop and Jane thinks about asking for an explanation before she decides against it. Whatever story is behind that sticker isn’t going to be interesting enough to out herself to someone she’s known for twenty minutes total. Not that she imagines anyone she meets on a daily basis thinks she’s straight, she just doesn’t want or need the headache of giving Maura the idea that she’s interested. 

Because she’s not.

  
.,.

  
Two weeks later and it’s gotten to the point where her booth feels empty if there’s not a studious know-it-all sitting across from her. The quiet lasts for minutes at a time, Maura working, Jane reading, until Maura decides she needs to share some scintillating factoid or ask a personal question that Jane, for whatever reason, usually ends up answering.

  
They have become, quite frankly, _friends_.

  
The kind of friends who know each other’s coffee orders (caramel macchiato for Maura, straight Americano for Jane) and can spend upwards of two hours in (mostly) silence enjoying each other’s company. They don’t talk much, but that’s fine with Jane- as curious as she is about Maura, she prefers to keep her own life under wraps and knows that she’d have to open up if she bothered to do any digging- and Maura, for all her ‘fun facts’, doesn’t seem to mind it either. They’re on a schedule where they meet around 2 every Wednesday at the Java Bean that’s halfway between the campus and Jane’s apartment, and Jane is prepared to go on indefinitely when she’s forced into change.

  
“It’s closed.”  
“Oh, is that why the door’s locked and the lights are out? Thanks. I was starting to panic.”  
“You know, a lot of people wouldn’t put up with your abuse.”  
“I’m a cop. I can abuse you all I want.”

  
Maura laughs and Jane can’t keep the smile off her face but she ducks her head a little to hide it as best she can in her scarf. It may only be the end of October, but in true Boston style it’s already too cold to sit outside for very long and too wet to want to go for a long walk. She chews her lip and considers the ‘closed for renovation’ sign for a long half a minute before letting out a breath.

  
“I need a place to study.”  
“You could go to the library like a normal person.”  
“It’s hard to study when people are whispering ‘fresh meat’ at you.”  
She almost says, “I could arrest them if you want,” but bites her tongue and shakes her head.  
“Your dorm?”  
“My roommate is...loose with her affections.”  
“Do you seriously _not_ notice that you talk as if you’re out of a Jane Austen novel?”

  
Maura laughs but doesn’t answer and Jane scratches the back of her head, knowing she’s eventually going to suggest what she’s dreading suggesting and trying to pretend that she won’t. But she does.

  
“My apartment’s eight blocks from here. The coffee’s only instant but it’s warm and dry at least, if you don’t think that’d be weird for you.”  
“Why would it be weird?”

  
Jane turns, incredulous, but it’s obvious the question is sincere. Aside from the fact that Maura seems incapable of making a joke, there’s an openness and earnestness in her face that makes Jane simultaneously want to punch her and wrap her in blankets. She doesn’t answer because she doesn’t have the words to and because the sincerity of Maura’s question is disarming and she’s having trouble remembering why it could possibly have seemed weird to her in the first place.

  
“You can be both, you know.”  
“What?”  
“My friend and a cop.”

  
It’s the first time she’s ever referred to Jane as her friend and the term sets something in Jane alight, all the way down to her toes, true to every word of the cliche’.

  
“Come on.”

  
.,.

  
That’s how their hangout moves from the Java Bean to Jane’s apartment. It’s also how 2-hour coffee breaks turn into Chinese takeout dinners and flicking through channels and talking about their feelings. Jane learns more in those next few weeks than she did in two years of junior college.  
She learns that Maura is a pre-med student with a focus in forensic pathology, born in Boston but raised in France (which explains the lilt of her voice), with a professor father and an artist mother and a history of private girls’ boarding schools. She learns that Maura is terrifyingly perceptive, frank to a fault (“Are you gay? Is that too forward a question?”) and generous with her kindness. For her part,Maura learns how to decipher sarcasm and make a few (feeble) jokes of her own.

  
The other thing that Jane comes to realize is that her superficial attraction to Maura (which is both illegal and borderline creepy) is getting worse.  
Maura is pretty, in a word, with a light dusting of freckles over her cheeks and green eyes and a dancer’s body, hinting at curves she hasn’t grown into yet but with an elegant slope to her shoulders that is nothing if not sexy. What’s unsettling about it is that if Maura were a few years older Jane knows, objectively, that she would be very interested. But Maura is a minor. And- well, Jane’s not really single anymore. The perk of having to do your laundry in a laundromat, apparently, is running into hot redhead interior designers whose interests include gay detectives with a cynical streak. Allie isn't technically her girlfriend, but she's something, label or not.

  
Maura is incessantly curious about Jane's relationship the second she figures out that there is one. It's a red leather jacket resting over the arm of Jane's couch that sets her off- a jacket she knows isn't Jane's. It's been a long time since Jane has had a female friend, so it's hard for her to decide if Maura's interest is normal or not. If she had to bet on it she'd say it wasn't but only because there really is _nothing_ normal about Maura at all.

  
"Is she tall?"  
Jane frowns, moving Allie's jacket to the counter where she's more likely to remember to return it. "I guess?"  
"Is she taller than you?"  
"No."  
"Does she have dark hair or blonde hair?"  
"Neither. What is this, twenty questions?"  
"Well then what color is her hair?"  
"Kind of reddish. I don't understand why you care."

  
Maura sits cross-legged on the couch, eyes fixed on Jane, grinning widely. "I’m just trying to get an idea of you together. Do you like her?"

  
"No," Jane replies, rolling her eyes, "I'm seeing her to have an in to the royal family."  
"English?"  
"I'm _kidding,_ Maur."

  
She plops onto the couch, kicking off her shoes and wriggling until she's comfortable. Maura rests her elbows on her knees and fixes Jane with an expectant look that she tries (and fails) to ignore.

  
" _What_?"  
"You never answered my question."  
"Yes, I like her. Why are you so interested in my girlfriend?"

  
Maura drops her eyes to her hands and fiddles with the hem of her jeans and Jane braces herself for some kind of confession.

  
"The whole concept intrigues me."

  
 _Jesus_. "I need a beer."

  
Maura's still blushing slightly when she gets back with a can. "The concept of lesbians intrigues you? What, is that why you have that sticker on your laptop?" Maura's head lifts so fasts her loose curls bounce a little and Jane hates herself for noticing it. "No, not- the concept of romantic relationships in general." Jane can't help but feel as if she's dodged a bullet, but she takes a long drink before jumping back into the conversation, resting her socked feet on the coffee table in front of her.

  
"Your parents divorced?"

  
"No, but...they're busy. Their relationship is more of a business transaction than anything else. It's hard for me to imagine relationships any other way, because of...boarding school, you know, being so sheltered, and it's like all I ever see are people dating to have sex and marrying for money." Jane wants to say its not her job to parent Maura, but instead she takes another drink. She's not good at sappy. She's not good at talking about feelings. But she still feels like she needs to give Maura some idea of what the rest of the world is like.  "I'm dating Allie because I like her. She's fun to be around, smart, great sense of humor even if she's a little weird sometimes. There's a, uh...physical side to it, obviously, but we also really genuinely care about each other and stuff."

  
"So it's like being friends, but with sex."

  
Jane coughs, feeling her ears burn with embarrassment. "Uh. Yeah. I guess." While she's at it- while they're crossing lines, anyway, she figures she might as well ask her own questions. "Have you really never had a boyfriend or anything?" That’s distinctly hard for her to believe, because Maura is the kind of girl upper-middle-class white boys dream of, foreign enough to be exotic but still American by birth, sweet-looking but not as if she’s twelve forever, smart enough to show off but not mouthy enough to cause any trouble.

  
Maura shrugs, straightening her back. "There wasn't really time for it in school. Other girls were...doing things, but it was either that or get grades good enough to get me here."

  
"You know, of all the things you've ever said _that_ makes the most sense," Jane jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood, but the joke, as per usual, goes right over Maura's head.

  
"I...thank you?”  
"Don't mention it."


End file.
